


Aromatic You

by AERCHIVE (aerClassic)



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Hongjoong has a potty mouth, M/M, Sex Pollen, without the sex and possible dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerClassic/pseuds/AERCHIVE
Summary: It was just an old and unassuming bottle of unlabeled cologne.
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Kim Hongjoong, One-sided Everyone/Kim Hongjoong
Comments: 20
Kudos: 399





	Aromatic You

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Penomeco's No.5:  
>  _"There’s a scent from the deepest part of you_  
>  _Take me there, I wanna sense it all day_  
>  _It’s so good_  
>  _The aromatic you"_

Hongjoong hadn’t thought anything of it when his mother pressed a nondescript gift bag into his hands on his way out the door from his latest retreat from the KQ dormitory. 

“It’s a handsome cologne for my most handsome boy,” she’d called it before she licked her thumb and swept away an errant curl of hair from his neck. She’d stood back to survey her handiwork, satisfied in the knowledge she’d saved him from embarrassing the both of them by wandering around in public with an unseen cowlick. Hongjoong just grimaced at the feel of cooling spit swishing against his neck, but this was his mother and there are some things you just don’t complain about. “The woman I bought it from told me it was an exotic blend meant to bring you love.”

“Thank you, eomma,” he’d said, being the dutiful grateful son he was raised as, “but I really have to start making my way to the station now.”

“Of course, of course. Did you remember to take all the leftovers I boxed up for the boys?” 

“Yes,” Hongjoong said and pointedly shouldered his duffel and the reusable shopping tote stuffed full to bursting with old tupperware and plastic containers his mother liked to buy in bulk ‘just in case’. “You know the company feeds us, right?”

His mom had only smiled wide. “Nothing wrong with sharing a mother’s love with her son’s friends.” She bopped at the small of his back. “Now, shoo, get out of here, and call your father when you get back to the dorms!"

"Okay," Hongjoong called back and left.

In hindsight, he probably should have asked why exactly his mom was out buying cologne from someone that was not behind a department store counter.

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong comes home to a quiet dorm, which can only mean one of two things: Jongho finally got fed up dealing with the lot of them being loud and put his foot down or the group members are plotting something evil behind closed doors. He hopes it’s the former, considering the last time they plotted anything as a group they ended up playing the mafia game until Mingi got choked out and started crying. 

He finds Yunho leaning against a kitchen counter biting into an apple and scrolling through something on his phone.

“Hey,” Hongjoong greets him, and stops looking in Yunho’s direction in favor of filling the fridge with the mountain of leftover side dishes and his mother’s kimchi. Watching Yunho do anything with his stupid pretty mouth is dangerous to his health and Hongjoong made a very clear sign in his brain that reads ‘Here There Be Dragons: LOOK AWAY’ about it so he doesn’t land in treacherous territory where Yunho pursing his mouth around the skin of an apple makes the skin in Hongjoong’s cheeks go red with heat. 

“Welcome home,” Yunho cheerfully responds, “Want some help?”

“Nah, I’ve got it, thanks though.” Hongjoong shoves at the stack of questionable takeout boxes to make room for the biggest container holding a mound of spicy green beans. “Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone?”

“Jongho was trying to nap and Wooyoung kept yelling loud enough to wake the dead so we’re on maknae lockdown,” Yunho says, close to his ear where he’d snuck up to lean over Hongjoong’s back. “Is this all from your mom? She knows the company feeds us, right?”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Hongjoong leaves the last container of kimchi on the counter and hip checks the door of the fridge closed. Yunho backs up enough to give him room. “But you know how she can get. If she’s not trying to drown us in food, then something has gone horribly wrong in the universe.”

“True.” Yunho bobs his head in understanding before peering into the gift bag with the cologne. “Hyung, what is this? There’s no label.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah dude, see for yourself.” Yunho pulls out the glass bottle to show it really doesn’t have any kind of discernable label, no writing of any kind—nada. It’s not even _boxed_. The bottle itself is small, probably only holding half an ounce at most, and the glass is cut in a diamond pattern to give the illusion of high value despite being capped with an ugly facsimile of a rose. “Where did she get this from? It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen in the department stores lately.”

“Knowing her?” Hongjoong shrugs one shoulder. “Probably bought it at that open air market close to the house.”

Yunho uncaps the bottle to give the nozzle a curious sniff and wrinkles his nose immediately. “It smells,” Yunho trails off to cough into his elbow, “ _weird_.”

“Weird good or weird bad?” Hongjoong leans over to get a whiff while Yunho holds the cologne up for him and, honestly, has to agree. It smells similar to the tiny bottles of old perfume his grandmother used to hoard on her nightstand, a stomach churning mixture of sour vinegar and old, moldering socks. Eugh. “Maybe it gets better once it’s on skin?” 

“Well, _I’m_ not going to try it.” Yunho hands it off in favor of attempting to sneak a bite of kimchi from the container left on the counter, laughing when Hongjoong smacks his ass with one of their wooden spoons from the utensil holder in reprimand. “Ow, hyungnim!”

“Don’t put your dirty fingers in my mother’s kimchi, you heathen.” Hongjoong sticks his tongue out before turning back to try and decide if spraying a test patch on his wrist is worth the risk. Hongjoong is distracted enough that he doesn’t notice Yunho creeping up on him until long fingers dig into the space between two ribs. 

Not only does he let out a embarrassingly high pitched squeal when Yunho’s fingers tickle his ribs, Hongjoong also manages to drop the cologne against the countertop so hard that the glass cracks and shatters. The amber liquid goes spraying over his hands, the lower cabinets, and, horrifyingly enough, a few drops actually manage to land in Hongjoong’s wide open mouth. Strangely, once it hits the open air, the cologne doesn’t smell as god awful disgusting as it did bottled up. It doesn’t taste great by any means, but the offensive vingared sock smell transforms instantly into a pleasant mixture of _something_. 

Kind of reminds him of Yunho’s preferred cologne if he’s honest.

“Oh god, hyung, are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to make you drop your present,” Yunho frets and grabs the roll of paper towels to sop up the spill before it can soak any further into their laminated wood flooring. “Don’t move or you’ll cut yourself. I’ll be right back with the broom!”

He runs off before Hongjoong can reassure Yunho that he’s fine, so he opts instead to grab an empty cup and gargle the taste of cologne out of his mouth with water from the sink. It marginally helps cut the cloying scent from the back of his throat, but water alone can only do so much.

“I really am sorry, hyung,” Yunho whispers once the last of the shards are swept safely away, voice shaky from the threat of tears and shoulders slumped. 

Hongjoong is quick to give him a squeeze around the waist. “It’s okay, Yunho-yah. Accidents happen,” Yunho wraps his own arms around Hongjoong’s shoulders, because he is apparently physically incapable of not returning affection, and they rock together in the middle of the kitchen still reeking of something distinctly floral. “Besides, it’s not like I was going to actually _use_ it. That stuff smelled like old man feet.”

Yunho bites his bottom lip. “I dunno, it smells a lot better now that it’s out of the bottle. Like the cologne you wear to all our fansigns.”

Hongjoong blinks. He’s pretty sure it smells like that one Dior scent Yunho buys in bulk. Maybe he’s been soaking in it too long to really tell the difference anymore? 

“Either way it was just going to sit on a shelf until I got tired of looking at the bottle and throwing it away. It’s really alright, Yunho-yah.” He pats his dongsaeng’s back to get Yunho to release him. “I’m going to go wash this off. Tell everyone we’ve got dinner covered tonight for me?”

Yunho nods eagerly—though still somewhat visibly upset but Hongjoong will take what he can get. Hongjoong does his best to smile reassuringly, because he’s not mad at all about a gift he couldn't care less about, and ignores the dark, insidious voice in the back of his mind whispering about inviting Yunho to shower with him. He’s been ignoring it a lot lately, especially when they’re all drawing straws on who gets the first shower after a particularly nasty dance practice and Yunho practically _glistens_. 

San peeks his head out of a doorway just as Hongjoong is shaking off the mental image. “I heard something break. Is everything okay, hyung?”

Hongjoong waves him off. “Everything’s fine, San, just an accident.”

“Ah.” San wiggles his nose at him. “What’s that smell?”

“The accident,” Hongjoong sighs, “We broke a bottle of cologne in the kitchen and most of it landed on me.”

San stares at him a beat too long. “Shame, it smells good.” San opens the door wide enough to step out and grab Hongjoong’s wrist to bring it closer to his nose. “It smells _really_ good. Maybe I should buy another bottle for you, hyung.”

“Uh,” Hongjoong shakes off San’s grip so he’ll stop molesting his arm. “It didn’t have a label so we’ll never know what the brand was unfortunately. In any case, I need to go wash this off.”

San’s eyes veritably gleam when he says, “Want some help?”

Hongjoong rolls his eyes but San just keeps staring at him hopefully like it’s a serious offer. He’s good at playing the straight man, so Hongjoong doesn’t think twice when he starts laughing all the way to the shared bathroom. “You’re funny,” he calls back.

“I wasn’t kidding!” Is the answer echoing down the hall just as the lock of the bathroom clicks into place. Hongjoong pretends he doesn’t hear it.

The shower helps to scrub away most of the cologne, but the taste still clings stubbornly to back of Hongjoong’s throat even after he tries to burn away the flavor using mouthwash until he gags attempting to swallow a cap full. 

Hopefully dinner will help his taste buds to recover.

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong wakes up from an impromptu nap to find Seonghwa staring at him. Chin in hands, elbows propped on the edge of Hongjoong’s mattress kind of staring at him.

“Hyung,” Hongjoong rasps, “What the absolute doublefuck are you doing, weirdo?”

“Watching you sleep,” Seonghwa coos, easy as you please, and reaches out to run a finger down the length of Hongjoong’s nose. “You’re so cute when you snore.”

Hongjoong cringes away from the touch because what the hell. They had a whole discussion about boundaries not three weeks ago when Mingi ignored the ubiquitous sock on the door and walked in on Wooyoung jerking off. The resulting pterodactyl screech had deafened the dorm almost as much as San’s laughter.

“Can you _not_ watch me while I sleep?” Hongjoong asks which he thinks is a fair question and a fair request all neatly packaged together.

Seonghwa sighs dreamily and tries to rub another hand at Hongjoong’s face. He dodges, barely—wrapped up in blankets as he is—but he’s still cognizant enough to be able to judo chop the fuck out of Seonghwa’s arm once he can wriggle a hand free. His hyung pouts, cradling the ‘injured’ limb close to his chest. “But, you’re so beautiful? I can’t help but watch you, Hongjoong-ah.”

“Oh my god,” Hongjoong moans and goes shuffling back beneath his blankets. “Find new material, this joke is dumb as hell. Please just go away and let me nap.”

It’s eerily quiet for a beat before Seonghwa says, “Fine,” and then rubs a hand down the length of his back over the comforter. “I’ll just go and make your favorite for dinner.”

**\--------------------------------**

Dinner accomplishes two things:

It reaffirms Hongjoong’s conviction that his group is made up entirely of bugfuck insane toddlers and Yunho goes eerily, angrily silent for the first time since Hongjoong has really known him.

“I think maybe you’ve gone a little overboard with this one, hyung-nim,” Hongjoong tries for demure and overshoots into overwhelming disbelief at the ginormous fuck huge ridiculous stack of pancakes in front of him. There are _seven of them_. There are seven pancakes piled high on his plate in various stages of both over and undercooked to the point the stack is making a slow retreat to the other side of the table—a cascading avalanche of too much flour and too little egg. 

San and Mingi are playing some sort of personal space invasion game on either side of him, shoulders digging into Hongjoong’s own and hugging him around the waist. He’s already had to threaten sitting on their hands if they don’t stop trying to molest his fucking thighs three times now. 

“Nonsense. This is the least I can do for my favorite person,” Seonghwa says and slides another crispy yet somehow still soggy pancake onto the stack. The whole thing wobbles precariously, almost like gelatinous flan. “Eat up, you need your strength.”

“Pretty sure I don’t,” Hongjoong mutters under his breath. He digs a sock clad foot into Yunho’s shin sitting across from him at their kitchen table. “I thought I asked you to tell everyone about the leftovers? Some of the things mom sent back are going to spoil if we don’t eat them quick.”

“I did,” Yunho growls darkly, which is— _HERE THERE BE DRAGONS_ , his brain cheerfully informs him, _do not pass go, do not collect $200_ —directed at San nuzzling into Hongjoong’s neck. “Hyung just ignored me because he said you _needed_ pancakes. His _specifically_ , and if you didn’t get them there would be a reckoning.”

“And Seonghwa threatened to cry,” Yeosang adds helpfully from across the table, hands threaded together beneath his chin and giving Hongjoong a kind of hungry look that would be better directed at the _actual_ _food_. Having Yeosang’s full attention like this is unnerving in its intensity.

“He’s always crying, that’s not new,” Jongho mutters on Yunho’s other side, scowling fiercely at the table like he’s trying to set it on fire through sheer force of will. 

Seonghwa wanders back over to plop yet another disk of batter on his plate and leans over to land a wet kiss against his forehead. Hongjoong tries to dodge it, but with San and Mingi’s shared weight on either side keeping him clamped in place, he can only accept his fate and make dying noises as if he’s been shot once the kiss is over, Seonghwa’s spit drying in the absolute center of his forehead. 

Fed up with being squeezed between the combined strength of two overgrown manchildren, Hongjoong attempts to wriggle free and manages to knock his shoulder sharply into San’s chin hard enough San unclenches just the slightest bit. “Can you guys please let go of me?”

“I don’t want to,” Mingi says, “You smell too good.”

“Yeah,” San adds dreamily, “ _Really_ good.”

Wooyoung joins them just as Hongjoong has an elbow jammed up under San’s nose and working on shoving the other into Mingi’s rib cage, Seonghwa fretting over the tangled pile of them like a concerned mother hen while Yeosang and Jongho remain innocent and unmolested bystanders. Yunho is still thin lipped and angry; he’s also helping himself to the topmost layers of pancake. 

“What is going on in here?” Wooyoung asks with a strange tilt to his mouth. “San?”

“Wooyoung-ie!” San exuberantly replies right next to Hongjoong’s already used and abused eardrums. Across from him, Yunho cuts into a pancake so aggressively his knife squeals against the porcelain. “Come here and get a whiff of Hongjoong! He smells amazing, like, really, _really_. You _need_ to get in on this.”

“Please god do not try and sniff me or I will replace your toothpaste with bleach,” Hongjoong quickly interjects before Wooyoung can be coerced into taking one step in his direction. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Wooyoung reassures him. “Might be a good way to get my teeth whiter though, so maybe I should.”

“Don’t,” Hongjoong tells him seriously. He’s finally gotten himself free from the octopus trap combination of San and Mingi’s limbs and shoves away from his seat—ignoring the twin whines and the overly affectionate hands trying to grab him back—to clap Wooyoung amicably on the shoulder. Wooyoung stiffens under his touch. “You can have my seat, I’m going to sit on the other side for once.”

“With me?” Seonghwa asks hopefully.

Yeosang raises his hands. “Hyung, you can come sit in my lap!”

This is literally the dumbest joke the group has ever collectively decided to torture him with Hongjoong decides. What even is the point? Make him extra uncomfortable with skinship? Annoy him to death? 

“Hilarious,” Hongjoong says dry as the desert and can only hope not playing into the game will get the group to cut it the fuck out sooner rather than later. He drops between Yunho and Jongho, the two who haven’t been trying to crawl up his ass. Jongho’s cheeks are terribly pink, whether from embarrassment over the whole joke or from an impending sickness Hongjoong isn’t sure. He makes a mental note to make sure their maknae isn’t coming down with a cold. “Can we change topics to something that’s not about me? Maybe, oh, I don’t know, the fact we’re wasting mom’s leftovers for pancakes I don’t even _like_.”

By the stove, Seonghwa lets out a wounded noise that sounds as if he’s been shot, some mortal blow he’ll never recover from, because their oldest member is basically a toddler masquerading in a big person’s body. 

“They’re not so bad.” Yunho slices into his stack and holds up his fork with a tiny piece speared on its end. “Just try a little bit.”

Hongjoong leans forward and takes the bite from Yunho’s fork, and, dammit, he’s right. They’re still weirdly crispy-soggy but not so bad he’s going to gag or something. Inoffensive, really. 

Yunho grins at him, cheeks scrunched. “See? Not that bad.”

“You’re only saying that because Seonghwa is your favorite,” Hongjoong says around a mouthful of pancake and not the least bit bitter about it. “I’m onto you.”

Eyes wide with faux innocence, Yunho stuffs half a pancake in his mouth in lieu of answering.

**\--------------------------------**

Unfortunately, Seonghwa's pancakes and the reheated spicy green beans he'd been eyeing since he shoved them in the fridge do nothing to cut through the cloying taste of the perfume still lingering in the back of his throat.

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong is barely awake the next morning. The weirdness of the previous day had kept him up nearly all night (mostly because Seonghwa kept trying to sneak into his bed) and they have a whole host of public appearances to make today. He can only hope the pot of liquid energy slowly filling in front of him will make the deep bruised bags beneath his eyes less horrible so the stylists don’t yell at him too much.

San joins him not long after. The strangely charged atmosphere is nowhere to be found this morning, for which Hongjoong is so intensely grateful he briefly considers crying.

“Do you ever miss your happy trail?” San asks, apropos of nothing and no one, and Hongjoong startles hard enough that the sugar sweet coffee he’d been trying to drown himself in goes sloshing over his knuckles. “Why do we have to wax that off anyway? It’s not like anyone is going to see it.” San continues, because he’s obviously gone insane in the six to eight hours since Hongjoong had last spoken to him.

“Uh,” Hongjoong starts, “because our shirts could ride up during choreo. Why are you suddenly invested in your happy trail? It’s just body hair, it’ll grow back.”

San pouts, plush bottom lip poked out just enough to be enticing, if you were into that, which Hongjoong sort of is, just maybe not in relation to San _specifically_. “Maybe I wanted to see yours.”

Hongjoong laughs and finishes the last dregs of his coffee, almost all sugar and creamer down at the bottom. He grabs a granola bar from the hidden stash in their cabinets and claps San on the shoulder on his way out of the kitchen. “Cut it out, man, this joke has gone on way too long.”

“I wasn’t joking,” San whines at him in the same way he whines for extra helpings of meat at dinner or when Wooyoung is too busy talking to someone else to pay attention to him. “Hyung,” San calls after him when Hongjoong is already halfway down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Hyung, I’m serious!”

Hongjoong waves backward in acknowledgement. The door to San and Yunho’s room is propped open, and he peeks in so see if Yunho has made it into the land of the living yet. All he sees is a formless lump curled beneath a mound of blankets, black hair barely peeking out of the top against the pillow. 

Gently, he drops down to sit on the sliver of mattress left open next to what he can only assume is Yunho’s hip. 

“Yah, Yunho,” Hongjoong taps at Yunho’s waist and his shoulders, “Time to start getting up, we’ve got schedules to keep.”

“Mmmnrgh,” is all Yunho manages before grabbing Hongjoong’s arm, pulling it possessively to his chest and attempting to roll away with it—though that only accomplishes pulling Hongjoong across his chest. “Don’t wanna.”

Hongjoong has no choice but to shift to his knees to hover awkwardly over Yunho’s body, giggling a little helplessly at the totally fake snoring Yunho is trying to pass off as real. The effect is ruined by Yunho, eyes still closed, starting to smile and laugh with him.

“I brought you a granola bar,” Hongjoong offers. 

Yunho creaks open one eye to squint at him blearily. “Chocolate?”

“We were out of chocolate, sorry. This one is,” Hongjoong holds it up to read the label, barely legible in the low light of the room, “Something-something cranberry.”

“You are not making a very convincing argument for me to actually wake up,” Yunho mumbles with his mouth pressed to Hongjoong’s skin. Which would be _cute_ if he wasn’t 90% sure this is about to be Yunho’s lead in to making him go away by biting his arm.

“Sucks for you, we still have to be ready to go in an hour or so.” Hongjoong drops the snack to Yunho’s bedside table before rolling to lie on Yunho’s other side, closest to the wall, and grabbing as much of the bedding as possible so Yunho is exposed to the cool of the room.

Yunho squawks indignantly—which is still super fucking funny even in its predictability—and takes his revenge by inching his fingers under Hongjoong’s ribs. 

“Don’t you dare,” Hongjoong warns him.

Yunho’s eyes, no longer hooded from sleep, go wide and innocent as if to say, ‘who me?’. The fingers twitch beneath him. “Don’t what? I’m just trying to keep my hands warm.”

“Liar,” Hongjoong says, “Those fingers move one more time and your balls are going to get super cozy with my kneecap.”

“You’re no fun,” Yunho whines, but at least his fingers disappear from the looming threat of a ticklefest. Instead, Yunho throws a leg over him and pulls Hongjoong, comforter burrito and all, into his chest for a hug. “Did you bathe in the coffee pot?”

“Spilled some on myself earlier,” Hongjoong sighs, nuzzling into Yunho’s warmth despite the clock ticking ever closer to the arrival of their van. Yunho smells like skin and laundry detergent and home, so intoxicating Hongjoong feels the hazy fog of sleep trying to creep back on him. “San scared me.”

Yunho tenses briefly, a quick there-and-gone. “He’s been acting weird.”

“Everyone has been acting weird lately,” Hongjoong agrees and yawns into Yunho’s chest, flicks at the blankets until his dongsaeng releases his hold so Hongjoong can fold the sheets around the both of them again. “You’re the only sane person in the dorm except for maybe Jongho.”

Yunho pulls him in tight again, resting his chin on the crown of Hongjoong’s head and shifting to tangle their legs together. “Aren’t we supposed to be getting up?”

“Twenty minutes,” Hongjoong breathes into Yunho’s neck. “Twenty minutes and _then_ we’ll get up.”

Yunho hums. Hongjoong can feel the scrape of Yunho’s fingernails against his scalp and resists the urge to moan like a touch-starved moron—god, he's so easy. “Can I choose what song we listen to when we brush our teeth?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want.” Hongjoong bats unseeing at Yunho’s face to make him close his eyes. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“Twenty minutes,” Yunho reminds him. 

Hongjoong groans, burrows his head aggressively into Yunho’s chest until Yunho laughs. “ _Sleep_.”

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong immediately takes back what he said earlier, Jongho is the least sane person in the dorm almost down there with Seonghwa and whatever has gotten into San lately. 

After waking up snuggled up under Yunho’s chin while he played some game on his phone and their ritualistic teeth brushing while jamming to Block B, Hongjoong knocks on Jongho and Mingi’s shared room to get them to wake up. What he finds…

“Jongho-yah, what,” he falters, “What exactly are you doing?”

Jongho, very calmly, responds, “Making a vision board,” and pastes another grainy jpeg cutout of Hongjoong’s own face on a piece of cardboard Jongho has manifested from...somewhere and laid out on the floor next to his bed, a tornado’s wreck of scissors and glue and bits of paper surrounding him like a halo. Almost every spare inch of space on the cardboard is covered with snapshots he recognizes from some of his favorite fansites and a few official-unofficial selcas pulled from their twitter.

Hongjoong gapes his mouth open and closed like a fish while he casts around for something to say. Unhelpfully, Mingi is nowhere to be found to knock some sense into his roommate or to offer up his own explanation for allowing Jongho access to the dorm's printer before 7AM. “There’s only pictures of myself with red hair?”

Jongho pauses in gluing another still shot of Hongjoong from their stint on Mixnine, staring into the middle distance as if he’s remembering something with extreme fondness. Hongjoong has to clear his throat when the weird staring goes on a touch too long, and Jongho finally says, with feeling, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’m making a vision board of you with your red hair,” Jongho smiles up at him, slapping the cutout to the board with a wet smack. “I really liked it.”

“That’s, um, that’s very sweet, but why? The red hair was so long ago.” Hongjoong muses.   
  
“I know, that’s the whole point.” Jongho turns back to his board to clutch the edges in a tight grip and starts crying. “We have to go _back._ ”

Since they don’t really have the time to sit down and unpack all of that, Hongjoong, like a coward, backs slowly out of the room until he’s whispering, “We have to be ready for the van in less than thirty minutes,” and speed walking back toward the kitchen. Back toward sanity.

If sanity is still MIA, then at least there’s always coffee.

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong fidgets under the enormous weight of Mingi draping himself across his back while they wait for the van that will whisk them away to the fansign venue they’ve been twice now. Hongjoong only allows it because it’s cold, Mingi is warm like a walking furnace, and Yunho gets all twisty mouthed about it when Mingi slides his hands in Hongjoong’s pockets over his own frigid fingers. It’s the only time Yunho has ever really been outwardly, _visibly_ jealous, and Hongjoong allows himself only a moment to bask in the attention before he shakes it off; probably Yunho is only looking pissy because Mingi is supposed to be _his_ walking space heater.

San shoves himself into Hongjoong’s other side with a whine. “Hyung, it’s so cold! Do you need some extra help staying warm? I can give you my jacket.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Hongjoong laughs and scrubs a hand over San’s beanie covered head affectionately. Something he does literally all the time, so why San feels the need to moan long and loud about it, he has no idea. Even Mingi lets out a noise of disgust at the sound. “San! Dude, we are in public!”

San grins, sharp and feline and dangerous. “Does that mean I can moan for you in private?”

“No,” Hongjoong shouts, scandalized, and realizes there are six other voices shouting in tandem when they echo between the buildings. “Jesus christ, what has gotten into you lately? Cut it out.”

He’s saved from whatever indecent rebuttal is about to come out of San’s mouth next by the van arriving and their manager, harried and wild-eyed from dodging traffic on a tight schedule, hustles them into their seats. Hongjoong wriggles out from under Mingi’s body and grabs Yunho’s sleeve before he can get too far.

“Yunho, sit next to me for this one,” Hongjoong whispers, “Please.”

Yunho blinks, shrugs, and says, “Alright.”

Hongjoong wedges himself in the farthest seat next to the window, and pulls Yunho down in the seat next to him before he gets any ideas about leaving to go sit next to Seonghwa or Jongho and leave Hongjoong to the mercy of San’s newfound obsession with playing grabass games.

Once situated and finally on the road, Hongjoong leans close under the pretense of sharing headphones and out of earshot of the six other people giving him dewy-eyed looks of longing; even _Yeosang_ , who has only ever directed them at Seonghwa when their eldest was asleep and drooling against the backrest of his seat. “Spill the beans, why did everyone decide to start acting coocoo for cocoa puffs when I got home yesterday? What’s the point of this joke?”

Yunho shakes his head. “I genuinely don’t know either, hyung, I swear.” He fidgets with the ring on his finger out of nervous habit and sends a pursed mouth glare at San miming kissed finger hearts in their direction. “If it makes you feel any better, San has really been going out of his way to piss me off about it too.”

Hongjoong leans his chin against Yunho’s shoulder, ignoring the disappointed sighs coming from the peanut gallery. “How so?”

“Just, he knows that I—” Yunho stops, clicking his mouth shut and going red up to his hairline. “He just is. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s suspicious as hell, you know that, right?” Hongjoong digs a finger into Yunho’s cheek just to be a dick until Yunho scowls and tries to bite it. “Just don’t let it get to the point where you two are fistfighting in the dorm.” 

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Hongjoong says with a grin. “Anyway, I need a favor—”

“What’s in it for me?” Yunho interrupts with his own decidedly more shit-eating grin in place. 

“All of my love and affection,” Hongjoong tries in obnoxious aegyo, which only makes Yunho roll his eyes. “Fine, whatever you want as long as it doesn’t cost me an arm and a leg. Deal?”

“Deal,” Yunho says, smug, and loops their pinkies together. “What’s the favor?”

Hongjoong keeps their fingers locked and finally shifts his gaze back toward the van interior. Yeosang has dropped down to scribble furiously on a sheet of paper he’d pulled from somewhere. Seonghwa and San are in silent competition of who can make the most obnoxious finger heart slash kissy face combo while Mingi and Jongho are sitting backwards in their seats, chin against the headrests, staring at him with twin looks of revolting infatuation. Wooyoung is thankfully turned away, though, like Yeosang, he’s curled over something in his lap and using his fingers to count out syllables.

“See if you can figure out what these idiots are trying to do,” Hongjoong begs. “The lovey-dovey atmosphere is going to give me _hives_.”

**\--------------------------------**

The fansign doesn’t go any better.

For one, their makeup artists all seem to jostle each other around vying for his attention and access to his lip balm application. “Hongjoong-ah, are you thirsty? Can I get you a drink?” One offers. 

“Hongjoong, your mouth is so pretty today,” another says off-hand, swiping a lip brush across his bottom lip for what feels like the fiftieth time. “Have you been trying a new skincare routine lately? Different face masks? It’s so _smooth_.”

“No,” Hongjoong tries to say, though it comes out a little garbled from the brush still lingering on his mouth, “Just the usual. How’s your husband doing?”

She pouts aggressively while two other women in their mid-thirties huddle in close next to her with snacks and drinks clutched to their chests, hopeful expressions in place that mirror the ones San and the rest of the guys have been shooting him for the last day and a half. “He’s fine. I want to hear about _you_ though. You seem so different today, right ladies?” They all nod along, never once looking away from his face. “And that _cologne_ …”

“Um, thank you, but I’m just wearing deodorant,” Hongjoong says awkwardly, casting around for anyone else he could direct their attention to. Seonghwa and Yeosang are both conked out on opposite sides of the back room couch, Yunho is busy glaring at his phone between them, and the rest are probably still getting dressed in the other room. “I should probably start getting dressed. If you’ll excuse me—”

Hongjoong slides away from his stool and flops down next to Yunho for safety, the only person in the room who was not actively trying to smother him or rub at his mouth. He shivers. “Any clues yet?”

“Nope,” Yunho replies quietly, mindful of Yeosang almost drooling on his shoulder. Hongjoong sighs, wilting against Yunho’s side until he can droop his head against the back of the couch. “You looked like you were having fun with the makeup team,” Yunho says, sharp, after a period of tense silence.

“If by ‘having fun’ you mean desperately trying to find an excuse to run away, then, sure, we’ll go with that,” Hongjoong grumbles back. “Do you think San somehow bribed them before we got here?”

“I don’t think San can rub two coins together right now, he just bought like three new Bape hoodies last week,” Yunho tells him and gives Hongjoong a bracing pat on his thigh. “I think you’re just really popular.”

That doesn’t make him feel any better, but the heat from Yunho’s palm on his thigh is a welcome distraction from the terrifying trajectory his life has taken in the last 24 hours.

The actual meet and greet portion of the fansign goes...well, it _goes_. 

They have him seated next to Seonghwa and Wooyoung, who both take turns trying to drive him certifiable by unleashing their most obnoxious aegyo in an effort to be cute and then, when he was sufficiently distracted by annoyance, shoving their hands inconspicuously behind his back to pinch his ass between shaking hands with fans. Hongjoong has to grit his teeth behind a smile because one of their younger, possibly more impressionable fans is seated in front of him and he doesn’t want to make her think he’s, like, angry at _her_.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Hongjoong asks sweetly, gently holding her hand while she gapes at him open mouthed. “Where are you from?”

“Oppa,” she breathes out, “Oppa, you’re so _pretty_.”

Jesus, god, this girl looks fourteen, he cannot handle being lusted after by a literal child. What the _fuck_. 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says instead of the horrified word vomit sitting on the edge of his tongue, muscle jumping under his left eye from the strain of not screaming bloody murder. “What grade are you in?”

“Hongjoong-oppa, are you dating anyone? You’d tell us if you were, right?” She asks with scarily focused enthusiasm. “Please wait for me, oppa, I can grow up fast.”

“Not too fast!” Hongjoong laughs, extricating his hand from her hold and hastily signing her album while also ignoring Seonghwa trying to work his pinky into his back pocket. She pouts as staff hustle her along and Hongjoong breathes a sigh of relief, pinches Seonghwa’s arm until he cries mercy and goes back to speaking to the girl in front of him.

Curiouser and curiouser, Hongjoong notices some of the fansites dedicated to other members of his group start pointing their cameras in his direction. He’s used to his regulars, the handful who tape minion stickers to their lanyards and hold up homemade signs with their twitter handle emblazoned across the front, but to see Wooyoung and Seonghwa and Yunho’s fansites starting to point in his direction is off putting, to say the least. Even more horrifying, half the auditorium of Atiny are starting to stare almost unblinking at him and it’s a little like that dream everyone has when they’re over stressed and dreaming half dreams interspersed with real life nightmares. Like he’s standing naked on stage trying to remember choreo to a song they’ve never even practiced.

Hongjoong waves at them. The auditorium waves back in a slow undulating ripple, the intense clicking of shutters via high-def cameras follow.

Hongjoong swallows.

What the fuck is happening?

**\--------------------------------**

Dinner is a strained affair.

Sometime after they get back from the latest public outing, Hongjoong watches Yunho pull San away to their room for some reason. He wonders, pathetically jealous, if they’re disappearing to let off steam in the fun way—the better as a duo rather than alone way. They only emerge once Jongho and Wooyoung finish arranging plates and cutlery and styrofoam boxes of takeout their managers had sent home with the group at Hongjoong’s request.

Whatever San and Yunho were up to must not have gone very well because Yunho comes back scowling fiercely, San following at a sedate pace with a calm expression of serenity in place—still waters on a lake in the afternoon kind of calm as opposed to his usual brand of ‘I just got away with something sneaky and no one will find out until 4PM on a Wednesday afternoon’.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but is everything alright?” Hongjoong asks when Yunho shoves Mingi out of the way to drop down by his side. “You look—”

“It’s fine,” Yunho bites out, crisp and sharp and vicious, and the ‘ _HERE THERE BE DRAGONS, MORON, STOP LOOKING_ ’ sign looms high in his mind. “San’s just being a dick.”

San snorts, primly sitting in front of them with his chin propped in his hands while Seonghwa doles out carefully sectioned pieces of meat on everyone’s plate. “He’s just being a baby, ignore him.”

“I am not!” Yunho denies, thighs tensing so hard Hongjoong can feel the muscles shift just by the scant edge of their jeans touching beneath the table. “You just refuse to drop this really stupid fucking joke and it’s not nice. Or fair.”

San’s eyes narrow. “If you think my feelings are a joke—”

“Boys, stop yelling across the dinner table or you’ll upset Hongjoong-ah.” Seonghwa bops both of them over the head with the edge of his spatula before turning to ladle a huge helping of pork on Hongjoong’s plate. “Here, for you,” he coos.

Hongjoong blinks. “Um—”

“Here, hyung! You can have mine too,” Wooyoung excitedly scrapes his plate to join the mound of food. 

“And mine!” Jongho adds, elbowing Wooyoung out of the way with a glare and a smug curl to his upper lip. 

Hongjoong watches Yeosang quietly add his own plate to the mix and shares a mystified look of confusion with Yunho. “You guys do know I can feed myself, right? I’m not an invalid.”

Mingi slides a hand down the length of his arm. “We know,” he says is a husky whisper, “And we _really_ _appreciate_ it.”

Fed up, Hongjoong slams his palms hard against the table’s surface. Jongho and Wooyoung both startle out of their glaring match, and San jolts enough that he’s no longer leering at him like a pervert mentally pulling the shirt over Hongjoong’s head. “Alright! Fine! You got me! What is it you guys want? Why are you acting like insane people and what do I have to do to get it to stop?”

The group stays quiet while Hongjoong watches them exchange glances. 

San is the first to break the silence. “We’re not acting, hyung.”

“Funny,” Hongjoong hisses back, “because from where I’m standing, it seems like every one of you is trying to find a way to get into my pants and I don’t appreciate being made fun of for my preferences.”

Yunho sits a little more rigid next to him. Hongjoong ignores him, because holy fuck he just outed himself and this is not at all how he thought that particular conversation would go.

He coughs, mortified blush crawling over his cheeks. “Whatever, I’m going to take a container for myself and eat in my studio.” Hongjoong grabs one of the unmolested containers of marinated pork and fried noodles and pockets his phone. “Mingi, I need your lyrics tonight so we can get them submitted to production. You can join me in a bit when I don’t want to punch you in the face.”

Mingi pumps a fist and says exuberantly. “Yes! I’ll be there hyung!”

The rest of the table sighs together in one big gust except for Yunho, who Hongjoong is not going to look at in the foreseeable future, and Hongjoong, like the eternal coward he is, escapes the dorm. He’s determined not to think about how he sort of on purpose outed himself in a rage over steaming heaps of barbecued pork. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck he’s an _idiot_.

Mingi follows him to the studio after only a scant ten minutes, barely enough time for Hongjoong to get his computer booted up and the music program loaded with their latest medley. Mingi brings his notepad, the one Hongjoong had gifted him for his birthday in a bid to get him to keep his rap lines and lyrics contained into one space instead of all over the dorm in bits of scrap paper or loaded onto his constantly glitching phone.

“This is nice,” Mingi says, grinning over the back of his rolling office chair as he twirls in slow half-circles. “Just the two of us alone, I mean.”

“Mmm,” Hongjoong hums around a mouthful of pork. “Did—do you think the others care?” Mingi makes a questioning noise low in his throat, eyebrows raised. Hongjoong feels his face color deeper. “About my—about me. Being attracted to, uh, guys. Do you think I’ve made anyone uncomfortable?”

Mingi purses his lips in contemplation. “I think, if anything, you’ve made a bunch of us really happy by finally admitting it.” He grins a tad goofily. “I know I am.”

“Thanks, I think,” Hongjoong sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “How, um, how did Yunho take the news?”

Mingi scowls and stops twirling in his seat. “Why?”

Hongjoong keeps his eyes focused on the word doc loaded on his second monitor. “N-no reason. Just wondering.”

“Right,” Mingi says suspiciously. “Want to hear what I’ve come up with?”

“Sure. Hit me with ‘em.” Hongjoong accepts the notepad. The first three sheets are full of filthy explicit lyrics about—

“Mingi!” Hongjoong yells, horrified, “Why are you writing lyrics about eating ass? We’re idols! We’re supposed to be coming up with songs that can be aired on public television.”

Mingi pouts. “You said to write about what I love.”

“Yeah, like our fans or hitting a high note for the first time or rapping without stumbling over your words for the first time,” Hongjoong says, “Not—not _this_!”

“Well,” Mingi examines his nails, “You weren’t specific enough.”

“I thought it was heavily implied that I did not want you writing about your imagined sexual prowess or how deep you think your tongue can reach,” Hongjoong hisses. This is way more than he ever needed to know about one of his best friends. “For god’s sake, Mingi, you’re a virgin! I know you are because you were bitching about it less than a week ago!”

Mingi shrugs, unbothered as always, before trying to give him a sultry come hither stare. “You could help me with that part, though. Give us both some experience, if you know what I mean.”

Hongjoong stares at him and can’t decide if he wants to be incandescently angry or depressed, because wow that was a low blow. He settles for a flat neutral. “Get out.”

“But, hyung, our lyrics—”

“I don’t care. You can submit them yourself later.” Hongjoong shoves a foot at Mingi’s chair until it skitters closer to the doorway. “Get the hell out.”

Mingi shoots him one last hopeful, doe-eyed and wobbly mouthed pout before leaving the room and Hongjoong to his bruised ego.

**\--------------------------------**

Hongjoong comes home to a quiet dorm, kitchen table cleared and dishes put away, and sighs with relief that he doesn’t have to deal with anyone just yet. Free to mope in the common areas without someone there to make fun of him or, heaven forbid, try to get him to actually talk about his feelings as if it wouldn’t make him immediately burst into flames. 

He opens the door to his and Seonghwa’s shared room and debates actually taking that offer to train slash move to Dubai.

“Seonghwa,” he says in wonder, “What— _why_?”

Their room is covered in little cups of unscented tealights happily burning away while Seonghwa grins at him from the edge of Hongjoong’s mattress. “Welcome home,” he says instead of actually explaining why there are fifty-bajillion candles flickering on the desk, on their floor, precariously sitting on their windowsill and in danger of burning the curtains.

“Why do you have so many candles going at once?” Hongjoong desperately wishes he understood the logic here but is coming up empty. “This is a fire hazard.”

“A _romantic_ fire hazard,” Seonghwa replies with a flutter of his lashes.

Hongjoong decides he’s had just about enough of this tomfoolery and backs slowly back out of the doorway. “No, just the regular kind of fire hazard.” Before he closes the door again, he adds, “Blow these candles out before you burn the whole building down.”

The couch will have to do for a bed tonight.

In the five minutes it had taken Hongjoong to escape Seonghwa's potentially fiery clutches, Yunho had somehow, without Hongjoong noticing, set up camp on the couch himself with a pile of Spiderman comics at his side and his expression pinched inward out of what Hongjoong can only assume is anger. Or maybe he was there to begin with and Hongjoong had just missed him in his dark thoughts surrounding the theatrics at dinner.

“Yunho?” Hongjoong whispers, just in case anyone else is still awake and listening for him. 

“Hey,” Yunho whispers back. “Shouldn’t you be going to sleep?”

“Could say the same about you.” He grabs an extra blanket from the hall closet of extra linens they keep stocked for dead winter when they all agree to save on utility costs by adding extra layers before bumping up the thermostat. “Why aren’t you in your room?”

Yunho sighs and flings the comic he’d been trying to read onto the coffee table with the others. “San is,” Yunho pauses to stare at the ceiling, mouth pulled down at the corners. “He’s just bound and determined to make me angry, I think. It has to be on purpose I just don’t know why he’s doing it _now_.”

Hongjoong sits next to him on the same cushion but still far enough away they aren’t in danger of touching. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, thank you though.” Yunho knocks their knees together. “Why aren’t you sleeping in your room?”

“Seonghwa lit a bunch of candles and I do not have the mental capacity to deal with them or him for at least eight hours,” Hongjoong groans, finally giving in to the urge to lean his weight against Yunho’s side. Yunho just accepts it with a hum and shifts his arm to wrap around his shoulders. “I don’t know what’s gotten into everyone but I’m really so, so tired of it.”

“I can only imagine. I'm about as confused about the whole thing as you are considering no one wants to answer me when I ask what the joke is,” Yunho rubs a soothing palm over the curve of his shoulder. After a long moment of silence, Yunho adds, “About dinner—”

“Can we—can we maybe not talk about dinner?” Hongjoong hides his face in his hands and wishes he could disappear into dust like Spiderman did in Infinity War. “I’m trying to pretend it never happened.”

Yunho breathes soft laughter against the side of his head when he pulls Hongjoong tighter into his arms, just shy of actually pulling Hongjoong into his lap. “I just wanted to tell you I’m really proud of you,” Yunho murmurs low enough that the sound doesn’t carry farther than the distance between their bodies. “That took a lot of courage to come out the way you did even though I’m pretty sure it was mostly an accident.”

“Yeah, well. Thank you.” Hongjoong bites at the inside of his mouth to keep from doing something moronic like _cry_. “You’re not...you’re not upset or weirded out or—”

“No,” Yunho says, hugging him tighter to his chest. “Never. Not when it comes to you.”

“Never say never, dumbass,” Hongjoong tries for gruff but his voice comes out watery and deeply emotional. “I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but I really love you, Yunho.” He can feel Yunho’s fingers spasm against his shoulders and hastily adds, “You’re the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“Best friend, right, yeah,” Yunho says, oddly disjointed. “I love you too.”

Hongjoong closes his eyes and pretends this is that moment in every good romcom or television show where the characters confess and lean in close for a kiss while the screen fades to black. Unfortunately, this is real life, and Yunho is a real person who only sees him as a friend and colleague, and the only fade to black is the slow fade into sleep as Hongjoong pretends he’s not internally crying at the prospect of being sad and lonely forever. He can feel Yunho spread the blankets over their shoulders; can feel Yunho drop a kiss to his temple and then—

Fade to black.

**\--------------------------------**

After dodging Wooyoung and Mingi attempting to join him in an early morning shower (standing outside the door with towels slung over their naked chests and flushed all the way to their belly-buttons), and dealing with Seonghwa’s _Seonghwa-ness_ , Hongjoong has had just about enough of today and it’s barely even daylight. Even Jongho had jumped into the fray of the terrible dorm-wide joke by trying to play footsie with him under the kitchen table at breakfast.

Yeosang, at least, remains quiet while he scribbles furiously on the same notepad he’d been working on in the van. Hongjoong would ordinarily try to figure out what he’s doing, if it’s lyrics or ideas for an album concept, but with the insanity overtaking the dorms lately, he’d rather leave it alone. Maybe Yeosang is coming up with more hehetmon designs to turn into stickers for the fanclub or something.

San latches himself to his left side while Seonghwa attempts to nuzzle his head against Hongjoong’s right shoulder, a little sore from the awkward angle he’d fallen asleep in against Yunho’s chest the night before. 

“Have you always smelled this good?” Seonghwa wonders. “I can’t seem to remember…” Seonghwa inhales deep against his neck while San murmurs fervent agreement.

Hongjoong tries to shove them both away so he can at least get his eggs in his mouth before they turn cold. “It’s just Yunho’s body wash, calm down.”

Yunho pouts at him. “Mine? Who said you could use my body wash?”

“I did because I was out and yours was closest,” Hongjoong says sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “By the way, you’re out now too.”

“Bastard,” Yunho says without heat, mouth twitching in an effort to conceal his smile, before leaning over to spear one of the sausages Seonghwa had piled high on Hongjoong’s plate with his knife. “I’m taking this as payment.”

“Fine by me,” Hongjoong laughs just as San pipes up with, “You can use my soap, hyung. I’d really love it if you smelled like me.”

Hongjoong watches, fascinated, as the grin trembling on the edge of Yunho’s mouth gets wiped away like his face is an etch-a-sketch and someone has lifted the whole thing to give it a good, cleansing shake. 

Huh.

Yunho is on dish duty today, so it seems only fair that Hongjoong slides in next to him at the sink to help considering he _did_ sort of use Yunho as a pillow for most of the night and more than likely drooled all over his nice shirt. Also hanging around Yunho is a nice reprieve from the dumbasses vying for his attention and also access to his genitals. Not that Yunho would necessarily be denied—

Hongjoong forces himself to stop thinking just as Yunho flicks water at him.

“Quit spacing out. You’ve been drying that plate for literally three minutes now,” Yunho gripes, elbow deep in suds. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Hongjoong quickly apologizes and takes another two dishes away to dry them with their old threadbare dish towel. “Just have a lot on my plate today.”

Yunho offers only a deadpan look in response. “Hilarious.”

Hongjoong preens. “I _know_.”

Yunho rolls his eyes and squirts another fistful of dingy water at his face so Hongjoong feels justified in smacking at him with the equally disgusting towel, but then _that_ turns into the pair of them slinging water and soap bubbles around the kitchen like idiots until they’re interrupted by one of Yeosang’s drones bumping into Hongjoong’s shoulder.

There’s a note attached to the bottom fluttering with the low whine of the fan blades and Yeosang is nowhere to be found, possibly just hidden somewhere in the hallway or dropped down out of sight behind a piece of furniture

Hongjoong shares a look with Yunho, who has a dollop of soap wobbling on the tip of his nose, and takes the note from the drone, only to suffer what can only be described as a minor aneurysm when he reads the note. 

In Yeosang’s chicken scratch, the note says:

 _Do you like me:  
_ _[ ] yes [ ] more yes [ ] no ):_

“Yeosang, what is this? What are you doing?” Hongjoong desperately looks around for his dongsaeng, handing the note off to Yunho when he makes an inquisitive noise. “Dude, get out here.”

“No,” Yeosang says from somewhere in the direction of the couch, so Hongjoong assumes he’s right in guessing Yeosang is crouching behind it like a toddler. “Just fill in a check mark.”

Yunho hands him back the note, before returning his attention to the leaning tower of grease stained dinnerware. Hongjoong crumples the paper in his fist and, dodging the drone still hovering at chest height, stomps his way into the living room to confront Yeosang head-on.

Yeosang says nothing when Hongjoong rounds the corner to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Explain.” Hongjoong holds the wadded paper out. 

Yeosang purses his lips, red blush covering most of his face. “I thought it was fairly self-explanatory.”

“The only thing it tells me is you’re acting like a middle schooler with a crush and I don’t know why,” Hongjoong grits out. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Maybe because I like you,” Yeosang tries with a look of defiance.

Hongjoong stares at him. “Since when?”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang shrugs. “You just—you just smell really good lately, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

How exactly is he supposed to respond to this? Thanks, but no thanks? Hongjoong scrubs a hand down his face and drops the note into Yeosang’s lap, unanswered. “The joke was sort of cute the first two times, but it’s getting really old, Sang-ie. Don’t do this again.”

Yeosang’s chin crumples inward, much like the note in Hongjoong’s fist, and he scampers back toward his room with his controller clutched to his chest and the drone bumping into the walls.

**\--------------------------------**

Watching Yeosang scurry away with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs and his drone clutched tight to his chest is bizarre enough that Hongjoong is starting to think something other than a dorm-wide conspiracy is taking place. This coupled with the way their fans and the stylist team acted barely a day ago...something is going wrong in the universe and Hongjoong has no idea how or why, or how to make it stop.

For now, he wants to nap and pretend he hadn’t been propositioned by Yeosang with a terrible love note. But, because the universe is a covetous bitch that wants nothing more than for him to suffer, he's greeted by Wooyoung waiting for him in his bed.

Completely naked.

“Dude,” Hongjoong yells, slamming his door closed. “Wooyoung, what the fuck, why is your dick out? Where are your clothes?”

Wooyoung giggles loud behind the door and calls back, “I took them off for easy access, hyung!”

“Why,” Hongjoong asks on the verge of tears, “And why god are you on my mattress? I’m going to have to burn that thing.”

The door knob rattles. Hongjoong clamps down tight so Wooyoung can’t come flying out at him sans clothing and—and— _touch_ him or something. Wooyoung scrapes his nails against the grain of the door. “Hyung-nim,” his dongsaeng coos in a bid to sound enticing instead of completely and utterly void of sense. “Don’t you think I’m cute? Don’t you want me?” Wooyoung drops his voice lower. “I’ll be so good for you, Hongjoong.”

“Fucking—jesus christ,” Hongjoong cringes in on himself, “Stop talking before I start gagging.”

“Hyung!” Wooyoung moans plaintively.

“No,” Hongjoong says in desperation, “and put your clothes back on.”

The scraping against the wood stops. “Is that what you want?”

“More than anything,” Hongjoong nearly sobs in answer. There’s a long moment of quiet interspersed with soft rustling noises and Hongjoong thinks, finally, someone is going to start listening to him for once.

“Okay,” Wooyoung calls again from inside. “I’m ready.”

Against his better judgement, Hongjoong opens the door expecting to find Wooyoung fully clothed and pouting on his mattress or sitting at his desk. Wooyoung is doing neither.

His dongsaeng has decided, in a fit of spartan ingenuity, to spread himself out in the middle of the floor with only a shirt tugged barely over his nipples and his pants laid out over his legs, fabric tented from an inappropriate—appropriate?—boner. “See? My clothes are technically ‘on’, you’re welcome.”

Hongjoong shuts the door.

“I’m going to the studio.”

**\--------------------------------**

Whatever headassery has infected the dorm seems to have followed him all the way to the production rooms. Hongjoong prides himself on being a consummate professional, the very picture of a perfect male idol despite his inherent awkwardness, but the way Eden is shooting him heated, black-eyed glances makes Hongjoong want to tear up his contract and run screaming for the hills. 

“I really like where you’re going with the baseline on this latest track and the lyrics are decently powerful without being overly phoned in.” Eden rests a cheek against his palm. “Why don’t we discuss this further over dinner?”

“U-um,” He stutters when Eden snakes a hand out to rub encouragingly against the knobby curve of his knee. “I think maybe I should get back to the dorms before Yeosang or Wooyoung destroy our kitchen.” Hongjoong gently—so, so gently because he does not want to actually physically hurt someone he admires so much—pinches one of Eden’s knuckles when he makes a move to grip at the inside of Hongjoong’s thigh. “It’s their turn to cook, you know how it is.”

He’s just barely managed to get his USB stick (the cutesy flower covered pink one Yunho picked out for him just to be a nuisance) from Eden’s desk when he hears, “They can manage for one day. Let me take you back to my place and,” Eden’s voice drops several octaves, “ _feed you_.”

Nope!

Nope, nope, nope, no way, this is not happening. Houston! Houston, we have several problems!

“Thank you, but, um, no thank you. At least for today,” Hongjoong hastily adds before Eden can get pissed and petition to have his studio privileges taken away. “Maybe next time when I’m not busy or when Double Trouble aren’t in charge of dinner duties, haha,” Hongjoong desperately word vomits excuses while gathering the rest of his belongings close to his chest like a maiden trying to hide her virtue. “Anyway, I must be off! Thanks for looking at those songs for me!”

Eden either doesn’t hear him or refuses to acknowledge his frantic backtracking to stare at him, face flushed red high in his cheeks, “Hongjoong, how do you feel about cream pies?”

“None for me, thank you,” Hongjoong hysterically replies, finally getting a hand on the knob of Eden’s door and twisting until he’s stumbling into the hallway and also Maddox’s chest. “Oh!”

“Whoa! Hey man, what’s the rush?” Maddox steadies him with one hand on his shoulder, the other holding tight to a stack of papers and his laptop. Maddox sniffs, “What’s that smell? Are you trying out a new cologne?”

“Nothing!” Hongjoong yelps and rips himself away before whatever the fuck is happening can infect him too, “Gotta go!”

“Wait—”

Hongjoong bolts as fast as his legs can carry him away from the production offices, side stepping a few interns he recognizes from fansigns giving him dreamy-eyed stares, and takes the stairs. The elevator isn’t safe.

**\--------------------------------**

The stairs turn out to be just as treacherous as the rest of the building with underpaid interns and several people he recognizes from their public relations department sniffing the air and trailing after him like lovesick puppies. His fanclub expands with every floor of the building; an intern here, a manager there, four junior trainees and even a stray cat sunbathing outside the building when he finally makes his way back towards the dorms. 

He bursts through the doorway with the sound of voices whimpering after him, begging him to stay within reach and to let them rub along his body. Hongjoong leans against the door and muffles a scream into his hands.

"Uh—" Yunho is standing off to the side of the kitchen entrance in the middle of opening a sports drink. "Hello?"

“Yunho, you have to help me! Something is going seriously wrong here and you’re the only one not acting like a crazy person,” Hongjoong latches onto the relative safety of his dongsaeng’s sleeve.

Yunho uncaps his drink, “What do you mean?”

“Eden-sunbaenim tried to make a pass at me,” Hongjoong hisses in near hysterics. His personal idol! The coolest person Hongjoong knows just tried to proposition him! Holy shit does not even begin to cover the width and breadth of his panic.

Yunho inhales his drink down the wrong pipe and chokes. “Excuse me, what?”

Hongjoong throws his hands in the air. “That’s what I said!” 

“Like, he tried to give you backstage passes to—”

“No,” Hongjoong stresses, giving Yunho’s arms a shake. “Like he basically implied he’d like it if I gave him a blowjob and let him c—”

“Stop, stop, stop! Oh my god, hyung, please, I can only handle so much of that imagery,” Yunho sobs. “Please say sike.”

“I wish I could, Yunho, I really, really do, but you have to help me figure out what the fuck is going on around here because this is just _insane_.” Hongjoong’s knees wobble from the adrenaline whooshing out of his system and, if not for Yunho catching him by his pits, Hongjoong would more than likely have bruised the everloving hell out of his kneecaps just before their next comeback. 

The dorm remains eerily quiet around them. Too quiet. His heart rate starts to kick back up. “Where is everyone?”

“In their rooms, I think.” Yunho rubs soothingly at his shoulders. “Want to go sit down while we figure this out?”

“You think or you know?” Cold dread in the form of fear sweat slides down the curve of his spine.

Whatever is causing the general population to act like hormonal teenagers, the effects are apparently starting to intensify. Not ten seconds after Yunho makes the suggestion, all six of their group members stumble into the living area with matching looks of hunger meets terrifying second puberty.

Yunho pulls him close. “I _thought_.”

San is the first to break out of the group’s formation. “Hongjoong-hyung, can you come here for a minute? We just want to have a word with you.”

“Maybe for longer than a minute,” Wooyoung adds when no response is forthcoming. “Maybe for forever.”

“Yeah, we just want to get close to you for a little while, hyung-nim,” Mingi coos, shuffling forward like he’s trying to sneak up on a cornered and frightened animal. He kind of is. “You smell so good I just want to eat you up.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Seonghwa gripes while batting at Mingi’s outstretched arms. “Oldest to youngest, we have an agreement.”

Jongho steps around all of them to lead the pack. “I say youngest first.”

While the group bickers amongst themselves over who gets first dibs on Hongjoong’s goods, he grabs Yunho by the arm and books it passed them to lock the pair of them in the dorm bathroom. Hongjoong slides down with his back against the door while Yunho stares wide-eyed at it like he has x-ray vision and can see the others fighting over Hongjoong’s dick.

“So,” Hongjoong mumbles into the gap of his knees. “Any ideas?”

Yunho joins him on the floor. “I’ve got nothing. They only started acting weird a few days ago after we broke that bottle your mom sent back with you.

Hongjoong sucks in a breath, lightbulb finally going off in his brain, and slams a fist into his open palm. “The cologne!”

His mother picks up on the second ring with a cheerful, “Hi honey—”

“Mom,” Hongjoong interrupts before she can get started in on a story about a neighbor or a relative’s new totally interesting toe fungus, “Mom, where did you buy that bottle of cologne you gave me?”

His mother clucks her tongue at him, “Oh that? Did you use it up already? Dear, even for you that’s a little excessive…”

“Mom,” Hongjoong stresses. “Please, this is serious. Where did you get it?” He and Yunho both jump at the sound of someone, maybe Mingi, thumping against the flimsy particle wood door to the bathroom with a groan.

“A nice woman set up at the market by the house.” His mother finally answers. “You know the one between the florist your brother bought that bouquet for mother’s day and the seafood place your father likes. They’ve had salmon on deep discount for the last week, want me to buy up a bunch and send it over for you and the boys?”

“We’re fine,” Hongjoong says, ignoring Yunho’s whispered, “Ask her if she’s a witch.” He shushes him with a palm slapped over his mouth which Yunho licks at in retaliation. Hongjoong ignores that, too. “What did she look like?”

“Just an old woman, around your grandmother’s age before she passed on, god rest her soul, and she had all these little bottles. Between you and me, I think she was a bit down on her luck.” His mother sniffs like she’s on the verge of crying. “That’s why I bought a bottle from her, to help her get back on her feet, bless her.”

“Right,” Hongjoong says, “Thank you.”

“What’s this abou—” 

He hangs up. “So I have a lead but we need to get back to my house.”

Yunho nods and says, "Okay," still muffled behind Hongjoong's palm. "Can I use your laptop as a shield?"

"No," Hongjoong scowls and pinches Yunho's cheek until he winces and starts smacking at his arm in pain. "I'd sooner let the horde take me first."

They make it to the station by the skin of their teeth, having to dodge the members asking where they’re headed—along with their questioning why is Yunho trying to steal Hongjoong away when he smells so delectable—and even a passing photog on the street with a giant Dispatch sticker plastered on his camera, whose eyes went glazed and unseeing when they passed by. He only collects a few stragglers this time around, two cats and a small flock of aunties out for a group jog which are all easily avoided at the speed he and Yunho are running.

"This is kind of like a zombie movie," Yunho pants next to him while they rest against the side of a building to catch their breath. "Except everyone wants to fuck you instead of bite you."

"I don’t think they’d be against biting," Hongjoong says back, skin crawling just picturing any one of their friends and acquaintances trying to get their mouths on him. "I’m pretty sure the team that runs the twitter account wanted to _actually eat me_."

Yunho gives him a sympathetic nose scrunch. "Sorry, hyung. Don't worry though, we’ll find that lady and get this fixed."

"Mmm, I hope so." Hongjoong swipes away the sweat beading on his forehead. "You sure you’re not feeling, like, weirdly sexually attracted to me?"

Yunho’s face does something weird, like he’s trying to hold in a fart or suffering from sudden, stomach churning constipation or found himself swallowing the equivalent of ten lemons in one go, and he croaks, "Not...uh, no. No."

“Not no?”

“I meant—you _know_ what I meant, shut up." Yunho avoids further questioning by pulling him back into the fray of the crowded sidewalk, "We have to go, the train is going to be here soon."

Making it to the open air market and finding the woman responsible for selling his mother the strange and possibly homemade cologne is a lot easier than Hongjoong thought it would be. He still gathers a trail of interested men and women and various stray animals all jostling for his attention, but one rheumy-eyed glare from the elderly woman crouched in a makeshift stall surrounded by colorful bottles is foul enough to ward them away.

“You seem to have quite the following, young man,” she grins at him, all gums and one yellowing canine. “Seems to me you’ve got an overabundance of infatuation surrounding you.”

“You could call it that,” Hongjoong awkwardly replies. Yunho steps in close to his side as a few of the more bold hangers-on try to invade Hongjoong’s personal bubble. “Do you remember selling a bottle of, uh, cologne with a rose stopper to a woman that kind of looks like me?”

“Ah, the love potion, yes, yes,” the woman claps her hands with enthusiasm. Hongjoong has to stop his knee-jerk reaction to roll his eyes and leave, because this is real life and real life did not include being the victim of magic potions gone haywire. “The rose meant to bring her love and happiness for helping me pay rent. I take it she gave that particular vial to you?”

“ _Yes_. You see, we accidentally broke it and—”

“You broke it?” She frowns at them. “That won’t do. That won’t do at all. Your mother spent good money on that.”

“I know she did, but the point is, everyone we know has been acting really strange since it happened and we just need to know how to make all _this_ —” he spreads his arms wide to encompass the whole of his bizarre fanclub all whispering together dreamily in his direction—“finally stop.”

She waves a hand in front of her face. “It should wear off after a shower or two, just go home and take a bath.”

“I’ve tried that,” Hongjoong says desperately. “ _Twice_.”

Yunho cuts in, “What if he got some in his mouth? Would that do anything about the longevity of the—uh—potion?”

“Ah.” The woman rubs at her chin. “That would explain why the marketplace seems to be falling in love with you the longer you stand here.” Hongjoong shivers, terrified someone is going to make a break for it and tackle him into the grimy sidewalk. “The potion I created was made to wear off after a few hours, but if it landed in your mouth and you managed to swallow any, then you’re more than likely shedding the potency through your skin.” She smirks at him before sliding her gaze to Yunho. “You just need to find a way to sweat the rest of the potion out.”

Yunho chokes, still standing close enough Hongjoong can feel his body heat radiating down the length of his arm. “So, wait, everyone was supposed to be falling in love with me, right?” The woman nods. Hongjoong squints into the middle distance. “Why wasn’t Yunho affected? He was the one who broke the cologne in the first place, he should have experienced the full effect.”

He can feel Yunho go rigid next to him. “Uh, hyung, I think maybe we should start heading back to the dorm instead of asking silly questions—”

“No, I want to know.”

“But—” Hongjoong cups a hand over Yunho’s mouth and focuses back on the woman with his eyebrows raised. “Well?”

“I think that should be fairly obvious,” she replies, dry, “the magic won’t work on the already genuinely enamored.”

Hongjoong turns and grabs Yunho by the pockets of his jacket before he can slip away.

“Hyung, please let me go!” Yunho whines. “I need to go bury myself alive.”

“No,” Hongjoong refuses, giddy from the knowledge that his mental signs can finally be crushed underfoot; no more here there be dragons, move over Anne McCaffrey there’s a new dragonrider in town. “Once this stupid cologne wears off, _we_ are going to have a lovely discussion about keeping secrets.” 

Yunho groans pathetically into his palms and droops in Hongjoong’s grasp. “ _Mean!_ ”

Hongjoong watches Yunho's ears turn an adorable shade of humiliated crimson and takes a moment to consider the future blooming outward before him, and adds, "Also I'm going to kiss your stupid pretty face, like, a lot."

The witch-woman offers up another gummy smirk. “You know, you can use your man here to help remove the last vestiges of the potion.” She taps a wrinkled finger against her nose. “Get it all out of your system so to speak.”

Yunho makes a sound like he’s trying not to spontaneously combust and Hongjoong smiles suddenly feeling extremely charitable with the world despite the literal horde forming behind his back. “What a _wonderful_ idea.”

**\--------------------------------**

They take a taxi home, paid for by his generous mother, and huddle close against the passenger window in a bid to mostly block Hongjoong from the gleaming heated glances their driver is shooting at him through the rear view mirror. Hongjoong has a tight grip on Yunho's hand, fingers trembling in his grasp, as they watch the cityscape pass by in blurred lines of neon and concrete.

"Hey," he breathes against Yunho's shoulder. "Yunho."

"Hey, what," Yunho answers quietly. 

Hongjoong thumbs over the ring on Yunho's finger that's warmed by skin and fear sweat. "You know I like you too, right?"

Yunho fidgets in his seat. "I—kind of figured that out when you said you were going to kiss my face." He slouches a little in his seat with a pout. "This is still really embarrassing to be outed by a _perfume_ of all things."

"Magical cologne," Hongjoong reminds him, "And you’re not the one being propositioned at every corner." He gives their interlocked hands a gentle squeeze and hides the smiling curve of his mouth in Yunho’s jacket covered shoulder. " _Yunho_."

" _What_?"

"I like you a lot."

"Okay." Yunho hides his own smiling face behind his free hand, cheeks round and pink and gorgeous. "Good."

**\--------------------------------**

“This isn’t really what I pictured we’d be doing to ‘sweat it out’,” Yunho grumps with his arms folded against his chest leaning against the singular door of the company gym to hold back the last of the stragglers trying desperately to get in. “Like, at all.”

“Yeah, well,” Hongjoong pants on the treadmill, “I thought maybe we could do the other more fun and sweaty things when I’m not being chased down by our friends and half the staff trying to touch my dick.”

The windows are just reflective enough that Hongjoong can watch Yunho’s face turn scarlet and smirks at his newfound power. He finally clicks the treadmill off when his shirt is nearly saturated in sweat and holds his arms out, a little dizzy from exertion but hopeful. “What’s your opinion? Think this is enough to get the perfume out of me for good?”

Yunho eyes him dubiously. “Maybe,” Yunho thumps his head against the door. “I can always open this and we can find out.”

“Do it,” Hongjoong says and braces himself for the potential impact. Yunho stands, opens the door, and the handful of staff still lingering in the hallway rush in before stopping, blinking as if clearing away brain fog, and giving the pair of them questioning looks. 

The first to speak is a balding man he’s pretty sure was in charge of their food budget. “Hongjoong? Yunho? What are—” he scratches at his scalp, “What are we doing in here?”

Oh thank all that is holy, it’s gone. The perfume is gone and the spell has finally worn off. Hongjoong does a silent dance of victory in his head as the staff all glance at each other as if they’re just now figuring out where they are.

“Not sure unless you’re here to get a workout,” Hongjoong says, “The treadmill is free now if you need it.”

The staff members all shake their heads. “No, that’s fine.” The man give them both a slightly embarrassed bow. “You two, uh, you guys have fun with your workout routine.”

“Will do,” Hongjoong says and closes the door gently behind the last person.

With that proverbial monkey finally off his back, Hongjoong rounds on Yunho, catching him staring in the general vicinity of his ass and smirks. “Hey,” Hongjoong coos at him, stalking forward until he can slide his palms along the curve of Yunho’s chest up towards his neck and rests them there. “Yunho, my main man. My _bro_.”

Yunho snorts at him, fingers resting on Hongjoong’s hips like he can’t decide if he wants to pull Hongjoong in closer or shove him to the other side of the room.

“What now?”

Hongjoong, feeling benevolent and finally at peace with the world, rubs the tip of one finger across Yunho’s jaw, down his chin just shy of his bottom lip, and over the movement of Yunho’s adams apple as it bobs on a deep swallow. 

“With how many pheromones have been wafting around me lately, maybe you should join me in a shower to make double sure all of it gets washed away.” Hongjoong rests his traveling hand against the edge of Yunho’s jeans just before the button. “For safety reasons, of course. Wouldn't want you to be affected too.”

“For safety,” Yunho repeats, dazed. “Right.”

“And to conserve water,” Hongjoong wheedles, already walking his hand back up to rest over the pounding in Yunho’s chest that more than likely matches his own. “Save the environment and all that jazz.”

“I _do_ like the environment,” Yunho says consideringly while digging his fingers into the worn soft sweatpants covering Hongjoong’s hips. “And you smell _awful_ , it’s probably going to take more than two hands to get that stink off of you anyway.”

Hongjoong laughs, bright and carefree and unburdened by the guilt-ridden emotional toll courtesy of the horde of his unwilling fanclub. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all week.”

**Author's Note:**

> They do the diddly-doo within earshot of the entire dorm as revenge.  
> Jongho cries.
> 
> ~ Ash


End file.
